Magic is Myth
by sine ulla animi
Summary: War weary Harry Potter is thrust into a world where magic is myth and science has all the answers. With Death literally looming over his shoulder, Harry is determined to stay out of the war between Humans and Mutants. Unfortunately, Fate never did like Harry. (X-Men: First Class)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: I've had this idea for a while and just decided to write. It's a Harry Potter/ X-Men: First Class crossover. Let me know if I should continue.**

**Warning: There will be swearing.**

The textbook definition of fear was an unpleasant emotion caused by the belief that something or someone is dangerous, likely to cause pain or a threat. Fear was an emotion that could make you do things that you would never do, if in your right mind. And fear was an emotion that Harry Potter was quite familiar with.

In the past eight years, his worries had turned from upsetting his Uncle and Aunt, to fighting a Dark Lord. No longer did he fear burning breakfast or doing something _freaky._ No longer did he fear being locked under the stairs.

Looking around, he saw a layer of bodies covering the earth.

Hermione.

Ron.

Ginny.

Neville.

Luna.

The pain and horror stricken faces of those who were still living made him believe that they would be better off dead as well. The sleepless nights that would follow, the holes in their hearts that would never truly heal, the pain they would constantly feel, even after months and years.

A small smile crept onto his face as he thought of himself. When he was younger, he wanted nothing more than to be away from the Dursleys.

But now, as the green spell shot towards him, he thought that maybe… maybe the closet under the stairs wasn't so bad.

_It was black. _

_It was dark._

_It was nothing and in his mind, Harry knew quite well that this was it. This was what he had evaded for the last seven years of his life. It was this that he had skillfully avoided throughout his time in the Wizarding World._

_This was death._

_And death was cold. _

_It was unforgiving. _

_It was cruel and its silence was too loud. Its darkness was too bright. _

_But underneath that, underneath that darkness there was a promise of peace. A promise of no pain. Nothing but warmth._

_There was a voice, demanding and cold unlike what he had expected. But it did not come from the darkness. It was commanding him to-_

"Wake up!"

Harry Potter's eyes snapped open, attempting to adjust to the brightness of the room. He looked around at the blurs surrounding him,

"Where are my...where are my glasses?"he asked,

He couldn't make out who the person around him was. And he most definitely did not recognise the voice, it was loud and had a thick american accent.

"Glasses, right. Shit, where did I put them?"

He heard someone fumbling around and the sound of things being knocked over. He started to sit up, even though his stiff muscles screamed in protest.

"Yes. Yes. Here they are."

Something was handed to him and Harry gratefully grabbed the familiar object, slipping them on. The blurs turned to objects and a person and he found himself staring at an old man. He had thinning hair and dark eyes. He wore an old black suit that hung off his thin frame.

He seemed harmless, aside from his foul language.

But then again, he could have easily been a death eater disguised with the aid of polyjuice.

And so with a guarded expression, Harry glanced around for his wand. When he saw it no where in the unfamiliar room, he turned back to the old man.

"Where am I?" Harry asked, prepared to run.

The man seemed oblivious to his tensed posture and said, "Well, obviously inside a fucking house."

Harry shook his head, "I mean _where_,"

The man gave Harry the most confused look before speaking as though trying to explain something to a child, "New York, America."

The man glanced at Harry, as though trying to understand him but then he suddenly got up. He walked over to a table and picked something up, tossing it towards Harry.

With reflexes that he had gained from years of Quidditch, Harry grabbed it. It was a wand. Examining it, he realized that this was the Elder wand.

"This isn't my w-" Stopping himself before he said something he shouldn't have, Harry glanced up at the man.

The old man smirked down at him, "No, Harry Potter. You are incorrect. That is your wand."

"How do you know me?"

The man only smirked, shaking his head. No longer did he hold himself up as weak.

"How are you feeling, Mister Potter?"

Harry gave a dry laugh, pointing his wand at the man in warning, "Death's a bitch."

The man sniffed, "I resent that."

As the man took another step towards him, Harry growled, "Expelliarmus."

The spell bounced off the man, leaving not even a scratch.

"Who are you?"

The man smirked, his being beginning to morph. His face became younger and he became taller and broader, his suit no longer hung off his frame, instead it fit him perfectly. He had a roguish smirk on his lips as he fixed his suit before bowing low.

"Mors, commonly known as Death."

As Harry stiffened, he smirked devilishly, "Now why don't you put down that wand. It won't do any good."

With a disgusted look in his eyes, he added, "Master,"

"But I...I died." Harry mumbled, lowering his wand.

"I know," Death groaned, "I was so fucking close."

Walking over to the window, Death glanced down before looking at Harry, and then glanced back out the window.

"I don't suppose you could just jump out the window?"

"Why aren't I dead?" Harry asked, sliding down onto the ground,opting to ignore the man's question.

"You are very much so dead. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived is dead."

Harry looked up just in time to see Death's eyes turn completely black for a second as he said,

"You have been reborn as Harold Potter, Master of Death."

A loud noise from outside made Harry jump. Standing up, Harry walked over to the window, wearly pushing the curtain away. He gazed down at the body of a fallen boy, blood pooling underneath him.

There was shouting, as the body was dragged away, as though this was a common occurrence.

"What is this?" Harry croaked turning to face Death,

The man that only seconds ago had a carefree attitude was now stiff and bowing low.

"Welcome Master, to a world where magic is myth."


	2. Chapter 2

**1962**

Harry drummed his hand against the counter as he read the essay. It was written by Bolivar Trask about genetics.

Death had told him that he had been brought to this world to do something. Something that the boy-who-lived had to be alive for. And from the way he had been eyeing the article, Harry had quickly grabbed it.

He held onto every word until he saw a cup held out to him. Turning his head, he saw Death holding a teacup for him.

Taking it from him, Harry sighed. Even after two years of being transported here, Death refused to leave him. Until his last breath, he had said, until the Deathly Hallows could be returned to him so that he would never have a master again.

"What do you think?" Harry asked, taking a sip of the tea.

He held the essay to Death who gripped it delicately, quickly skimming through it even though he already knew what it was about.

"Quite plausible. It might actually have already occurred."

His smirk made it quite clear that _might _was not the word that he meant.

Harry had become quite accustomed to Death's way. He would never give proper answers but he would also never lie.

"Is this why I've been sent here?" Harry asked, placing the now empty cup down.

As Death picked up the cup, he stopped next to Harry's ear and asked, "Is it, Master?"

Harry sighed, getting up and laying down on the couch. Even after two years, some of the spells that had hit him had left permanent scars. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the radio.

"You've not been sleeping." His tone was reprimanding.

Glancing at the clock, Harry frowned, "I woke only an hour ago, twat."

"You know what I mean."

Harry sat up a little, groaning, "Its the nightmares. I'd usually get Herm… I would usually take a dreamless sleep potion but I'm bloody awful at making them."

Harry's thoughts returned to his friends. The one's he'd left to die. All but abandoned. If he were there, he could've done something, or at least avenged them. And here he was, complaining about sleep. But if he did whatever he was supposed to do here, at least he could return to his own world to avenge them.

"Perhaps a walk will tire you out." Death hummed,

Harry scoffed. As he thought of an excuse, he found himself remembering his first day here, "I don't fancy being shot."

Death let out a throaty laugh as he looked down at the tiny (In comparison to his monstrous 6'4 height) wizard sprawled out on the couch. He could tell that his Master was wallowing in self hatred. It both amused at annoyed him- how mental torture could be just as harmful to mortals as physical torture.

"Would that not solve both our problems?"

"Sod off," Harry mumbled, giving it another try.

Or at least, that was what he meant because his face was shoved into the couch pillows so it came out as, "Sos oss."

"Perhaps a drink might help you forget for a small time period." Death persisted, his tone imploring as he glanced at the clock.

With a small sigh, Harry got off the couch, shrugging the coat that Death held out to him on and mumbled, "I better not get shot."

But he knew that Death had a proper reason. Even if he didn't know what the reason was.

"Don't be childish, Master." Death said happily as he led them out.

"I am a child." Harry mumbled, smiling softly.

Death shook his head as they walked down the street, "Perhaps you can make new friends."

"What good is it if they all die?" Harry asked, frowning as he heard the loud laughter from what looked to be intoxicated men.

As a drunk man tumbled past them, he grabbed onto Harry's arm roughly, spinning him so that he faced the man. His breath reeked of alcohol and with slurred words he said, "You...you're gon' die boy. We all gon' die."

Harry's free hand curled around the wand in his pocket, his mouth opening to utter a spell. Before Harry could cast a spell, a large hand curled around the man's wrist.

"I implore you to unhand my Master."

The drunkard turned his unfocused gaze to Death. And even in such a state, the man's unforgiving gaze made him shiver.

"These a..are… dark times."

When the man didn't loosen his grip, Death's eyes were cold as twisted the man's wrist until he heard a satisfying snap and a scream.

Harry scowled, leaning down and with a quick flick of his wand, fixed the man's broken wrist.

"Magic here might not be the best idea."

Death frowned, grabbing the man and shoving the man away from Harry, he then patted his hands together, as though trying to clean them. When he stopped, he walked over to the door of the building and opened it wide, bowing slightly.

"Oh great, even in this world, someone says I'm going to die." Harry frowned before walking through the door, "Thanks."

Walking through, Harry frowned at the upbeat atmosphere. It reminded him of home.  
Walking over to the back of the bar, he sat down at one of the tables, glancing at the crowd in the center of the room. They were crowding around a man with dark hair as he was chugging down a drink.

As Death lifted a glass to his lips, he said, "Watch the girl that's with him."

Even though Death had been facing Harry and hadn't glanced once at the group, he could still tell. Harry glanced over at the blonde woman who stood back as the man flirted with another woman. She had a small frown set on her face as she watched.

"What am I looking at?" Harry asked,

Turning his head, Death stared at the girl as well. His gaze as cold and emotionless as ever.

"You would be looking at…"

And as though she felt someone watching her, she turned her head to look at the man and boy who were in a corner, their eyes dissecting her as though she were a lab rat. And in that moment, she lost her concentration and her eyes flickered gold.

"A mutant." Death hummed, before draining the little drink that was still in his cup.

Turning his attention back to the other man, Harry found that he no longer had a playful look in his face, instead he was serious as he spoke to the dark haired woman.

Turning to Death, Harry said, "Some people back home also had two colored eyes. Is that what you mean by mutations?"

As the brunette woman got up and shook the man's hand, Death frowned,

"This world has much more evolved mutations. It gives them… abilities."

Harry sighed softly as he returned his attention to the blonde woman who was staring at Death with a troubled expression.

"Stop scaring her." Harry reprimanded, something about this girl reminded him too much of Hermione. They didn't look alike, not in the slightest. But she had the vulnerable look that Hermione had in first year.

Death blinked, and the woman seemed to snap from her trance, hurriedly returning her gaze to the man. Death smiled, his body shaking with silent laughter before he turned back to Harry,

"Of course, Master."

As Death pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket, Harry frowned, "Where are you getting all this money?"

Taking three of the crisp bills, he folded the rest and put them back in his jacket pocket before smiling at Harry, "From a dead man's pocket."

His gaze turned serious and his eyes snapped to the door, where the man and the women were exiting from.

"How much do you wish to return to your world?" Death asked, looking down at Harry's full glass.

Tentatively bringing the cup to his lips, Harry asked, "Why?"

Taking a sip of the drink, Harry recoiled at its strong taste that seemed to burn as he drank it.

Death didn't answer his question, instead he grabbed the cup Harry had now pushed away from him in disgust and downing it before saying,

"Humans think they're so evolved and superior. They don't quite understand that evolution hasn't stopped with them."


End file.
